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The following copyright editorial appeared in a post-Nordic Fest 2001 edition of the Decorah Newspapers and was authored by the late Margaret Gulsvig. Used with permission.
To learn more about Margaret's life, click here. See August 31 for another of Margaret's Nordic Fest columns. |
It is now five years since yours truly's opinion first emerged on the opinion page of this paper.
I'd been at Nordic Fest for about the 100th time, and as I drove back to Wisconsin, I found myself mentally writing my opinion about the weekend and somehow it got in the mail.
Actually, I'd spent the week at Lutherlag at the college (love Lutherlag) just as I'd often done, and one of my classmates said, "Hey, I saw your opinion in the paper."
I've hardly ever missed a Nordic Fest. Once, I'd even taken tickets at the Museum when a group came through from Roland, Iowa. I naively asked if anyone knew a lady named Cora.
"Of course," they said. "Why do you ask?" Well, Cora had been my baptismal sponsor way, way back and I'd always wanted to meet her. It was just one of the typically odd things that you could plan on developing at Nordic Fest. Last year, a long lost cousin from Minnesota was here asking people how to get in touch with me.
My Nordic Fest routine has always been pretty much the same. First, there's always been a dinner at Washington Prairie where a cousin stood ready to dish up coleslaw and trimmings.
Parade day is always sitting on the courthouse lawn watching the parade with Bob and Bard - all of it great. But when traffic problems rerouted the parade straight down Water Street, it made curb-sitters out of all ages. Sitting on the curb is okay and there's always good memories of the grandeur of that courthouse lawn. However, sitting curbside once even resulted in us exchanging Christmas cards with those beside us.
And then it was walking up and down Water Street, sampling the wares, some being made inside the store windows, then perching again on the sidewalk curb to take in the entertainment: great music often by beautifully dressed dancers from Norway, great juggling guys and an outfit that made incredible Danish muffins. But don't forget varme polse - a great name for hot dogs.
It was a long, hot walk down what some still call North Alley to see the rosemaling, the wood caring, the Norwegian stitchery of all kinds, as well as sampling sumptuous salivary sustenance along the way, savoring the steak sandwiches created by nearby rural gentlemen farmers, and later trying to decide which church offered the best menu, ending up trying them all.
Meanwhile, the college helped move the traffic with vans offering trips from there, where many visitors found lodging. Local citizens are also in the routine of renting sleep accommodations for the weekend.
Finally, let's not forget the opera - to show Scandinavian culture is a vital part of the celebration. Yours truly still chokes up remembering the fiddler who played so beautifully from the roof of the stage setting one year at - what else? "Fiddler on the Roof."
Sift it all together and you have Nordic Fest, with cooperation of one and all spelling SUCCESS. Grandma and grandpa must be very proud as they peek down on this great weekend celebration in honor of their coming to this world.
It's five years since someone bumbled into me and announced, "I saw your article." Thanks to one Mr. Fromm, who condescends to publish my sentiments periodically, as well as to all who have made comments, including 100-year-old Lettie Wright, who agreed with my diatribe about email, honoring my mailbox with lovely pink stationery containing a beautifully handwritten letter.
Mange take, one and all - and while you are here - Ta det med ro!
I'd been at Nordic Fest for about the 100th time, and as I drove back to Wisconsin, I found myself mentally writing my opinion about the weekend and somehow it got in the mail.
Actually, I'd spent the week at Lutherlag at the college (love Lutherlag) just as I'd often done, and one of my classmates said, "Hey, I saw your opinion in the paper."
I've hardly ever missed a Nordic Fest. Once, I'd even taken tickets at the Museum when a group came through from Roland, Iowa. I naively asked if anyone knew a lady named Cora.
"Of course," they said. "Why do you ask?" Well, Cora had been my baptismal sponsor way, way back and I'd always wanted to meet her. It was just one of the typically odd things that you could plan on developing at Nordic Fest. Last year, a long lost cousin from Minnesota was here asking people how to get in touch with me.
My Nordic Fest routine has always been pretty much the same. First, there's always been a dinner at Washington Prairie where a cousin stood ready to dish up coleslaw and trimmings.
Parade day is always sitting on the courthouse lawn watching the parade with Bob and Bard - all of it great. But when traffic problems rerouted the parade straight down Water Street, it made curb-sitters out of all ages. Sitting on the curb is okay and there's always good memories of the grandeur of that courthouse lawn. However, sitting curbside once even resulted in us exchanging Christmas cards with those beside us.
And then it was walking up and down Water Street, sampling the wares, some being made inside the store windows, then perching again on the sidewalk curb to take in the entertainment: great music often by beautifully dressed dancers from Norway, great juggling guys and an outfit that made incredible Danish muffins. But don't forget varme polse - a great name for hot dogs.
It was a long, hot walk down what some still call North Alley to see the rosemaling, the wood caring, the Norwegian stitchery of all kinds, as well as sampling sumptuous salivary sustenance along the way, savoring the steak sandwiches created by nearby rural gentlemen farmers, and later trying to decide which church offered the best menu, ending up trying them all.
Meanwhile, the college helped move the traffic with vans offering trips from there, where many visitors found lodging. Local citizens are also in the routine of renting sleep accommodations for the weekend.
Finally, let's not forget the opera - to show Scandinavian culture is a vital part of the celebration. Yours truly still chokes up remembering the fiddler who played so beautifully from the roof of the stage setting one year at - what else? "Fiddler on the Roof."
Sift it all together and you have Nordic Fest, with cooperation of one and all spelling SUCCESS. Grandma and grandpa must be very proud as they peek down on this great weekend celebration in honor of their coming to this world.
It's five years since someone bumbled into me and announced, "I saw your article." Thanks to one Mr. Fromm, who condescends to publish my sentiments periodically, as well as to all who have made comments, including 100-year-old Lettie Wright, who agreed with my diatribe about email, honoring my mailbox with lovely pink stationery containing a beautifully handwritten letter.
Mange take, one and all - and while you are here - Ta det med ro!
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